Cold Skin
by Agent Evey
Summary: The changeling and the doctor spend a passionate evening beneath the clouds. (No. 2 of "The Strawberry Shortcake Chronicles" series)


Rated E for "everyone loses their clothing. "

Graphic language.

Please don't go further than this note if you are under 18.

The half-hour drive from Barbara's house to the city's most popular panoramic look-out was peaceful. With the windows down, the wind whipped through the cabin of the car, bringing in the scent of fresh plants and the promise of rain. Every now-and-then he stole a glance at the woman beside him, whose hair dashed around her face like tendrils of flame. She smiled softly as she watched the blur of trees, tired eyes enlivened by the view.

Barbara had just come off of a 16-hour shift at work. She'd been called-in at one-o-clock in the morning, and had barely had time to get home and change before Walter came knocking at her door. Despite his insistence that they reschedule in favor of letting her rest, they'd gone out. She refused to let her work get in the way and he could hold no argument against her stubborn sense of will. Secretly, he'd cheered her on, eager to spend time with her after what felt like an eternity behind the walls of academia. Whether from the fledgling humans or thunder-headed trolls, he was tired of being surrounded by adolescent behavior. It felt wonderful simply to be within a few inches of someone as grounded as the doctor.

Unable to speak against the roaring wind, he focused back on the road, warmed by the sight of the sunlight on her face. Such an utterly human thing it was to enjoy the light. As a changeling, the ability made his comrades jealous. Of course, it also made him useful. Half of the focus behind his creation had centered on engineering a troll that could survive the sun. Though a privilege, it also kept him alive in the presence of his brutish kin. As a human, he'd learned to enjoy it beyond its purposes as a skill. To sit, to bask, to let the light dance behind red-lidded eyes; it was so simple, yet so wonderful. The day he lost that particular joy would be a very cold day indeed.

They turned onto a small dirt road that went up a steep hill. As he pulled into the look-out, he found it delightfully unoccupied. It was a school night and, with rain on the way, the chances of company were slim. The houses and streets of Arcadia glittered like fireflies in a jar over the edge of the hill. He looked to Barbara, her eyes only made more brilliant by the stormy blue color of the oncoming twilight, and his heart fluttered. Only six nights ago, they'd made love for the first time. Not once in the troll or human realm had he ever known such delight. The experience felt like waking up from a long, cold winter.

"What?" She smiled and laughed through her nose. He'd been staring at her for so long that she thought he might be frozen.

"You're wonderful, Barbara." He said, his green eyes growing as dark as old pines. "You know that, don't you?"

"Well," an eyebrow rose, "in any case, it's great to hear." She looked out at the horizon. "Especially after a day like today," she said distantly, then paused for a moment. "We lost a woman. Domestic abuse. Her husband stabbed her in the gut with a broken spoon. The damage was…horrific. I couldn't get her open fast enough," she paused, a hand brushing against her forehead. "Sometimes you just get people too late and there's nothing you can do. She left a twelve-year old daughter behind. Who knows what's going to happen to her…reminded me too much of my own kid, you know?"

Strickler nodded. Although he'd never had children (changelings, by design, were sterile—like mules in their hybridized world) he often thought of his students as his own.

Her eyes became grave and sunken as she spoke her next words. "The look on her face when we told her…God."

The changeling's hand rose, thumb lifting to caress her cheek.

"I'm sorry," she blurted, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, "I don't mean to bring work with me. It dampens the mood."

"Not at all," his thumb continued its path. "It's a part of you. I enjoy every part of you. If you need a comforting word or ear then, by all means, take it. I'm happy to give. I won't be able to offer you advice on whether or not 'ER Earl' has a case of e-coli or the stomach flu," they both laughed, "but I've been through my own trials and losses...sometimes, I feel very old. I can only hope that any knowledge I've gained might be of some use to you."

"So far, it's been a godsend." The doctor smiled and placed a hand on his knee, "everything has." She unbuckled and leaned in to kiss him, knowing what was on his mind, sensing that he, too, could still feel the shockwaves from a few nights prior. The kiss was sweet, simple, slow, but fervor teemed behind it.

When they broke away he could see her eyes changing, darkening into a hint of the wonderful creature she'd become in his apartment. It seemed that he wasn't the only being capable of changing in the night. Her modesty had lasted only as far as the bedroom door before she turned into a…goddess, siren, angel divine-several words came to mind, but nothing within the language of humans or trolls sufficed to describe what she had been. All he could do now was steal the occasional glance or touch to assure himself that she was, indeed, real.

He must have lingered too long in silence, because the next thing he knew, she was cupping his face with one hand, her palm smoothing down to trace the line of his jaw.

"What are you thinking about? " Her voice echoed through the cabin of the car, lightly teasing.

His green eyes came to hers, sincerity blazing through them. "It hasn't once left my mind-the other night, that is. Barbara, I've never… " he trailed off.

"You've never made strawberry shortcake?" Her smile went lopsided.

"Oh," he laughed. "No, I've done that. It's just," he grabbed her hand, "well, never has it tasted so sweet. I suppose that's what I'm trying to say. You're not just a healer of the body, you also cure the soul. Were that my last memory on earth, Barbara, it would have been my happiest."

The doctor became a little more serious. "Thank you," she looked down, "no one's ever said anything like that to me before."

Gently, he lifted her chin, encouraging her eyes. No doubt, they were glistening-having been urged into some distant memory by his foolish prattle.

" _That_ is the highest of crimes." He kissed the top of her forehead. "Truly."

She clung to him for a moment, hands squeezing at the lapels of his jacket, her mind clearly caught in the past. Then, she leaned in, having come to some conclusion, and brushed her lips against his.

"I don't want to hurt you," Strickler whispered, returning the kiss, aware that she couldn't possibly know how desperate he felt as he spoke. He'd begun this relationship with the worst of intentions, preying upon an individual who was already very hurt by the past. There would be pain, _great_ pain, in their future, he thought. But not now; not as long as he could help it. "I don't ever want to hurt you," he repeated, as though it were a mantra.

The rain pattered against the window, smothering his words, though Barbara had heard them. Her hands snaked around his head and neck in response, eager to rekindle their passion. They lost themselves to the sensations of their wonderful and utterly human embrace.

This time, when they broke away, it was only long enough for Walter to flip the armrest out from between them. When he tried to go to her, he caught himself in his own seatbelt and they both laughed. Barbara unbuckled the strap and pulled him closer. He reached around her to tug at the seat control, lowering them until they were almost flush with the back seats.

Walter hovered over her for a moment, smiling down, his fingers combing through her fiery hair. Through the enchantment, he could feel the pulse of her desire as strongly as he could feel his own. But a bad bedside manner was as unacceptable to him as bad tea-one question still begged the limelight:

"Are you alright with doing this here?" he asked, tucking a strand behind her ear. "If it makes you the least bit uncomfortable we can move, or stop altogether. I won't mind."

Barbara paused, shaking her head with incredulity. "I'm _very_ comfortable," her legs came up around his torso. "You have no idea how refreshing it is to hear you ask. I love that about you. You never assume."

Here, Walter felt a pang of guilt. He'd assumed a lot of things, including the fact that he could lure the Trollhunter's mother into dating him. The plan had worked-not because Barbara was weak, but because she was strong enough to move past the pain that both her former husband and, now, her son had left. Strickler had a clear sense that the hole in her life was something she was _letting_ him fill, because she needed it, because _Jim_ needed it. But the moment she sensed danger, she would cut him off. Forever.

The thought of it pained him greatly. They were like two rivers meeting: rushing, churning, damming themselves up to form a lake, but it was a dam made of thistle and thatch, not of the cold stone he thought himself to be. They would break and he would deserve his fate but she had slipped into so many cracks and crevices within his soul that he went breathless at the thought of being left so dry.

A brow rose when she heard his breath catch strangely, though she mistook it for desire. "What about you? I don't want to get you in trouble with the school. Or scare any of your students."

Her concern was valid, of course. The location had a reputation for being popular among young and adolescent couples, but the risk, he reasoned, was worth the magic of an evening above the city.

"No need to worry," he said, confidence returning as he bent down to trail a series of kisses down her neck, "I made sure that all of my staff assigned extra homework tonight. At least three hours per course."

"Three hours?" she said, laughing and shivering at the same time. "Is that how long you think this is going to take?"

He backed away, hand bracing against the headrest as he shot her a devilish look. "Well, I certainly intend to try." His attentions returned to her neck. "You tell me, Doctor. Is it possible?"

"Maybe," she said, breath rushing into his ear as he came over her, "maybe with the right…god, Walt…stimulation," she bit his earlobe and heard him growl with a ferocity that seemed out of place for a bookish principal.

Strickler went from placidly aroused to feverishly undone in seconds. All of his senses heightened: he could hear the rain pattering, see the way it left odd patterns on her skin, could smell the scent of her perfume mixing with traces of antiseptics from the hospital, taste the salty sweetness of her body, and, above all, he could feel her writhing against him.

The latter became a particular source of preoccupation for him. To enjoy the softness of the human form, in this way, was entirely new.

He began to tug at the hem of her shirt but paused, staring at her, waiting for permission. She smiled and placed a hand on his, and together, they guided the garment off. The brown jacket he wore went flying into the back seat. His mouth traced a 'V' from the center of her chest to each collarbone, breathlessly exploring every inch. When he doubled back, his hand cupped the side of her bra and he freed one breast from its mooring.

Barbara gasped, fingers running through his hair, nails skimming the back of his neck as she encouraged him onward. He bit the tip of her breast and she cried out, back arching upward, causing her pelvis to grind against his above.

The Changeling groaned, overwhelmed by the shockwaves of desire that trembled through them both and through the bond. He started to turn his attention to the other breast but she pulled him up, her blue eyes meeting him briefly before her lips crashed against him like a wave. While one hand toyed with the hair on the nape of his neck, the other snaked down to undo the buckle of his belt. She didn't bother with the zipper or buttons, reaching in to grasp his length.

His entire body trembled when she squeezed him and he moaned into her mouth. Unable to think, he practically tore away at her bra, sending it to join his jacket somewhere in the back of the car. His long hand smoothed against her jean-clad thigh, breath rushing as strongly as the gales of storm-fed wind as he dipped his head to nip and lick at her throat. When she offered no resistance, he bit her hard on the shoulder and she made a noise that was half pleasure, half pain. It was then that he realized that he'd taken things too far. This was a troll ritual, not human. A test of the jugular—the final step of receiving permission to mate.

Stopping, he pulled back, fear dancing in his green eyes like sunlight through the leaves of a tree as he tried to judge her reaction. Barbara stilled and blinked up at him. If she found his actions strange, she didn't say so.

"What's wrong?" she asked, her free hand moving to his face.

"Nothing," he shook his head, then reached into his pocked to procure a condom. "Just…getting prepared. Safety first," he gave a short laugh.

The excuse wasn't entirely out of the blue, he thought, considering he'd worn one the last time-though that particular habit opened up an entirely new can of knomes...

"You know," she teased, her other hand moving to join the first behind his neck. He closed his eyes as the cold rushed in to replace her warmth. "I _am_ a doctor. I do happen to know how to prevent these things with medication. Or is there something else I should know?"

In truth, she found the gesture endearing, but there was something in the way he was acting that seemed unlike him.

Walter hesitated. Oh dear, how to begin? He hadn't expected to address this so soon. Changelings were crafted to be similar to humans in many ways. Their blood ran as red as a human's, their troll forms were similar in shape, and many of their organs were in the same place. A few things, however, were not the same. The magic that made him look human only ran so deep. Although externally, he looked normal, internally, he remained a troll. It meant that a certain bodily fluid would, indeed, look very different to the trained eyes of a doctor.

"I…" he cleared his throat, struggling to form a lie. "Well, Barbara. It's nothing contagious." Was he blushing? He felt flushed. "I just…I have a condition that makes things…colorful."

The truth, he supposed, was a better lie than anything.

"Colorful?" He could all but feel the arch of her eyebrow.

"Yes, well, my...my seed," he went on, trying to be discreet, "it's…violet. A manganese-based reaction, I am told. I didn't want to alarm you."

"Is this something recent?" she asked, switching into a professional state. "We could run a few tests. I can take you to the lab and-"

"No, no," he interrupted, "it's genetic. I've had it all my life. I just didn't want it to be," his hand trailed down her ribcage, "off-putting."

"It won't be," she shifted a moment to undo the button of her jeans, tugging them down.

"Let me help," he purred, the tension leaving his shoulders as they sunk back into their rhythm. His eyes traced every inch of dim-lit skin as it revealed itself, perfectly able to see in the dark. He bent down to nip at the area just below her navel.

"Hey now," she said, "this isn't fair."

He chuckled, then shifted to his knees and pulled his turtle-neck over his head. "Better?"

"Almost. Come here," she cooed at the outline of his debonair grin. When she reached for his zipper, she felt a hand over hers.

"You're sure you won't find it disconcerting?" He asked.

"Not in the least. I enjoy you. All of you." The words echoed his earlier declaration. Briefly, he wondered if she would one-day say the same.

The changeling shrugged it off, letting the thought die with the rolling thunder as he kissed her with a passion that he hoped would lessen any future pain. Things quickly became more serious and, before he knew it, he was completely undressed, his manhood hovering above her entrance. He kissed her forehead, then buried his face into her neck as he entered her.

She gasped and he felt the pain strike through their bond. He was on the better side of average, for a human, but she was small-her path slick, but tight. He slowed down, letting her accommodate, secretly fretting over whether or not she could one day take his larger form.

It was a ridiculous notion, he thought. There was no "one day."

"Don't stop," she breathed, sensing his hesitation, "don't stop."

He pulled out and thrust into her again. This time, the pain swirled with pleasure and he utterly lost himself in the sensations of both of their bodies. Barbara, too, could feel the enchantment. It showed in the raggedness of her breath and in the way she rocked her body against his.

The entire car moved with them, and he could only pray to whoever was listening that no one wandered up to find them. The doctor's breath ran hot across his neck as she moaned and gasped, nails digging into his back, clawing at him, making him hiss and pump harder as she became impossibly tight.

Lighting flashed around them, mixing with the sound of thunder and burning images of her into his mind that he would never let go of.

A tremor shot through him, stronger than any of the ones before; he could feel that they were both getting close. Walter reached between them and rubbed at the sensitive node above the place of their union. She jolted, and he heard her give one final, shuddering cry before she buried her face into his shoulder.

He crashed with her, his entire body stiffening, hands gripping her tightly as he poured his soul and body into hers.

"You're beautiful," he sobbed into her neck as he waited for his body to recover. "Absolutely beautiful."

Walter woke half-an-hour later, eyes blinking into the dark. He felt her body pressing against him, rising up and down in steady breaths. The rain pattered against the window in a lulling rhythm, matching her movements.

He would never get used to this, he thought, nose pressing into her hair. Never.

A shine caught his eye and he looked into the rear-view mirror. The glint was from the glowing ring that controlled Angor Rot. Somehow, the mirror had tilted to catch their reflection-likely the victim of one of Barbara's feet in the heat of their lovemaking. The thought made him smile and shudder all at once.

The expression faded and, as he looked his reflection, he grew curious. In a flash, he morphed into his true form, horns digging into the fabric of headrest.

His glowing eyes stared at the image that they made, transfixed by the contrast. He could feel the cold stone of his skin sucking away her body-heat, causing her to shiver.

Strickler heard her gasp as she stirred against him. He quickly changed back.

"Walt?" she said, reaching for him, trying to get her bearings in the dark. "What was that flash?"

"Lightning, my dear." he murmured into her hair. "It's just lightning,"

"It's cold," she said, wrapping her arms around him.

"I know," he squeezed her in return and curled his arms around her body, holding her close, warming her, in a way that only a human ever could. "I do know," he whispered again, and closed his green eyes once more.


End file.
